Smooth Talking Stranger Page 7

  Slowly I picked up the phone and dialed Tara’s cell number. This time, unlike all my previous efforts, she picked up. “Hello?”

  “Tara, it’s me.”

  “Ella.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” My sister’s voice was high and wavering. The voice of a young child. The sound brought back a thousand memories. I remembered the child she had been. I remembered reading to her those days and nights when we had been left alone for far too long, when there wasn’t enough to eat and we had no idea where our mom was. I had read books about magical creatures, intrepid children, adventurous rabbits. And Tara had listened and listened, gathered tightly against my side, and I hadn’t complained even though we were both hot and sweaty because there was no air-conditioning.

  “Hey,” I said softly. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Oh . . . not much.”

  We both snickered. I was relieved that even if my sister had possibly lost her mind, she still had a sense of humor.

  “Tara Sue . . .” I wandered to the bed to glance at Luke. “You’re the only person I know who hates surprises as much as I do. Is a little advance warning too much to ask? You could have called me. E-mailed. Sent me a ‘what I did over summer vacation’ essay. Instead, I get a call from Mom the night before last.”

  A long silence passed. “Is she mad at me?”

  “She’s always mad,” I said reasonably. “If you want to know how she reacted to Luke . . . well, I think if it had ever occurred to her that either of us would have ever committed the unpardonable sin of making her a grandmother, she would have had us both sterilized before puberty. Luckily for Luke, Mom’s not much of a long-term thinker.”

  Now Tara sounded tearful. “Is he all right?”

  “He’s great,” I said at once. “Healthy and eating well.”

  “I guess . . . I guess you’re wondering why I dropped him off with Mom.”

  “Yes. But before you tell me about that, where are you? At that clinic Liza told me about?”

  “Yes, I got here last night. It’s a nice place, Ella. I have a private room. I can come and go any time I want. They’re saying I should probably stay at least three months.”

  I was struck silent. Why three months? How did they know that was the necessary amount of time to deal with Tara’s problems? Had they taken stock and concluded she was only three months’ worth of crazy? Surely if she were suicidal or psychotic, they’d want to keep her longer. Or was it possible they didn’t want to reveal the truth to Tara, that she had been enrolled in their extended residency program? There were about a dozen questions I wanted to ask at once, all of them so urgent that they bottlenecked and I couldn’t get out a sound. I cleared my throat, trying to relieve it of clotted words that tasted like salt.

  As if she sensed my helplessness, Tara said, “My friend Mark bought me a plane ticket and made the arrangements.”

  Mark. The married man.

  “Do you want to be there?” I asked gently.

  A whisper. “I don’t want to be anywhere, Ella.”

  “Have you talked to anyone yet?”

  “Yes, a woman. Dr. Jaslow.”

  “Do you like her?”

  “She seems nice.”

  “Do you feel like she can help you?”

  “I think so. I don’t know.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “I told her how I’d dropped Luke off with Mom. I didn’t mean to do it, just leaving the baby there like that.”

  “Can you tell me why you did it, sweetie? Did something happen?”

  “After I left the hospital with Luke, I went home to the apartment with Liza for a couple of days. But everything was weird. The baby didn’t seem like mine. I didn’t know how to act like a parent.”

  “Of course not. Our parents didn’t act like parents. You had no example to go by.”

  “It was like I couldn’t stand one more second of being in my own skin. Every time I looked at Luke, I didn’t know if I was feeling what I was supposed to feel. And then it was like I was floating outside my body and I was fading away. Even after I came back into myself, I was in a fog. I think I’m still in it. I hate it.” A long silence, and then Tara asked tentatively, “Am I going crazy, Ella?”

  “No,” I said immediately. “I had the same problem a few times. The therapist I saw in Austin told me that spacing-out like that is sort of an escape route we work out for ourselves. A way to get past trauma.”

  “Do you still get it sometimes?”

  “That detached out-of-body feeling? . . . Not for a long time. A therapist can help you get to where you stop doing it.”

  “You know what’s making me crazy, Ella?”

  Yes. I knew. But I asked, “What?”

  “I try to think about what it was like for us, living with Mom and all her conniptions, and all those men she brought in the house . . . and the only parts I can remember clearly are the times I was with you . . . when you made me dinner in the toaster oven, and when you read stories to me. Stuff like that. But the rest of it is a big blank. And when I try to remember things, I start to feel scared and dizzy.”

  My voice, when I could reply, came out thick and halting, like heavy frosting I was trying to spread on a fragile cake. “Did you tell Dr. Jaslow any of the things I told you about Roger?”

  “I told her some of it,” she said.

  “Good. Maybe she can help you remember more.”

  I heard a shaky sigh. “It’s hard.”

  “I know, Tara.”

  There was a long silence. “When I was little, I felt like a dog living with electric fencing. Except that Mom kept moving the fencing around. I was never sure where to go to keep from being zapped. She was crazy, Ella.”

  “Was?” I asked dryly.

  “But no one ever wanted to hear about it. People didn’t want to believe a mother could be like that.”

  “I believe it. I was there.”

  “But you haven’t been around for me to talk to. You went to Austin. You left me.”

  Until that moment I had never felt guilt so intensely that all my nerves screamed simultaneously with the hurt of it. I had been so desperate to escape that smothering life, with all its soul-destroying patterns, that I had left my sister behind to fend for herself. “I’m sorry,” I managed to say. “I—”

  There was a knock at the door.

  It was nine-fifteen. I was supposed to have been in the lobby with Luke, waiting for Jack Travis.

  “Shit,” I muttered. “Wait a second, Tara—it’s housekeeping. Don’t hang up.”

  “Okay.”

  I went to the door, opened it, and gestured for Jack Travis to come in with a sharp motion of my hand. I was in a flurry, feeling as if I were about to fly apart.

  Jack entered the room. Something about his presence quieted the hard-thumping clamor in my ears. His eyes were black and fathomless. He gave me an alert glance, taking full measure of the situation. With a short nod that conveyed Everything’s cool, he went to the bed and looked down at the sleeping baby.

  He was dressed in slightly baggy jeans and a green polo shirt with slits on the sides, the kind of outfit a man could only wear if he had a perfect physique and didn’t give a damn about appearing taller, more muscular, leaner, because he already was all those things.

  My senses stung with primal warning as I saw the powerfully built male standing over the baby, who was too helpless even to roll over on his own. For a split second I was amazed by my own protective instincts over a child who wasn’t even mine. I was a tigress, ready to pounce. But I relaxed as I saw Jack rearrange the baby blanket over Luke’s tiny chest.

  I sat on an ottoman, positioned by an overstuffed chair. “Tara,” I said carefully, “I’m a little confused about your friend Mark’s involvement in this. Is he paying for your stay at the clinic?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I want to pay for it. I don’t want you to owe him anything.”

 
“Mark would never ask me to pay it back.”

  “I meant owing him something in an emotional sense. It’s hard to say no to someone after they’ve dropped this kind of money on you. I’m your sister. I’ll take care of it.”

  “It’s okay, Ella.” Her voice was bruised with annoyance and exhaustion. “Forget about it. That’s not what I need from you.”

  I was prying as gingerly as I could. It was like trying to remove petals from the heart of a flower without making the whole thing fall apart. “Is he the baby’s father?”

  “The baby doesn’t have a father. He’s just mine. Please don’t ask about it. With all the shit I’m dealing with right now—”

  “Okay,” I said hastily. “Okay. It’s just . . . if you don’t establish paternity for Luke, he won’t be legally entitled to any support from the father. And if you ever want to apply to the state for any kind of financial assistance, they’re going to insist on knowing who the other parent is.”

  “I won’t need to do that. Luke’s daddy is going to help out when I need it. But he doesn’t want any custody or visitation or anything like that.”

  “You know that for sure? He said so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tara . . . Liza said you told her it was Jack Travis.”

  I saw Jack’s back tense, rows of sturdy muscle flexing beneath the fine green mesh of his shirt.

  “It’s not,” she said flatly. “I only told her that because she kept on asking about it, and I knew that would shut her up.”

  “Are you sure? Because I was ready to make him take a paternity test.”

  “Oh, God. Ella, do not bother Jack Travis with this. He’s not the father. I never even slept with him.”

  “Why did you tell Liza you did?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it made me embarrassed, him not wanting me, and I didn’t want to admit it to Liza.”

  “I don’t think there was any reason for you to feel embarrassed,” I said softly. “I think he was being a gentleman.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jack sit on the edge of the bed. I felt his gaze on me.

  “Whatever.” My sister sounded exhausted and aggrieved. “I have to go.”

  “No. Wait. Just a couple of things. Tara, would you mind if I talk with Dr. Jaslow?”

  “Okay.”

  I was surprised by her ready acceptance. “Thank you. Tell her it’s okay to talk to me. She’ll want written permission. And the other thing . . . Tara . . . what do you want done with Luke while you’re at the clinic?”

  There was a silence so prolonged and absolute, I wondered if the phone connection had been broken.

  “I thought you would take care of him,” Tara finally said.

  My forehead felt like it had been tacked against my skull. I rubbed it, moving the tight skin, pressing hard into the little shallow where the top of my nose fused into orbital bone. I was trapped. Cornered. “I don’t think I could talk Dane into that.”

  “You could move in with Liza. Take up my half of the rent.”

  I stared blindly at the hotel room door and thought it was probably a good thing Tara couldn’t see the look on my face. I was already paying half of a monthly rent with Dane. And the idea of moving in with my cousin, who would be bringing men into the apartment at all hours . . . not to mention Liza’s reaction to living with a screaming infant . . . no, that would never work.

  Tara spoke again, every word pulled tight, like a string of rattling cans. “You have to figure it out. I can’t think about it. I don’t know what to tell you. Hire someone. I’ll ask Mark to pay for it.”

  “Can I talk to Mark?”

  “No,” she said vehemently. “Just decide what you want to do. But all I need is for you to take care of the baby for three months. Three months out of your whole life, Ella! Can’t you do that for me? It’s the only thing I’ve ever asked from you! Can’t you help me, Ella? Can’t you?”

  Her voice was hemmed with panic and fury. I heard my mother’s tone as Tara spoke, and it frightened me.

  “Yes,” I said gently. I repeated it until she subsided. “Yes . . . yes.”

  And then we were both wordless, breathing into the phone.

  Three months, I thought bleakly, for Tara to come to terms with an entire screwed-up childhood and all its crippling echoes. Could she do it? And could I keep my own life from imploding until then?

  “Tara . . . ,” I said after a few moments, “if I’m a part of this, I’m a part of this. You’ll let me talk to Dr. Jaslow. And you’ll let me talk to you. I won’t call often, but when I do, don’t avoid me. You’ll want to hear how the baby’s doing, right?”

  “Okay. Yes.”

  “And for the record,” I couldn’t resist adding, “this isn’t the only thing you’ve ever asked of me.”

  Her papery laugh rustled in my ear.

  Before Tara hung up, she told me her room number and a landline I could use to reach her at the clinic. Although I wanted to talk to her longer, she ended the conversation abruptly. I closed the cell phone and wiped its sweaty surface against my jeans, and set it aside with undue care. Dazed, I tried to catch up with everything that was happening. It was like running after a moving car.

  “Who the hell is Mark?” I wondered aloud.

  I was paralyzed. I didn’t move or look up even when Jack Travis’s shoes came into my line of vision. Rugged leather slip-ons with heavy stitching. He held something between his fingers . . . a folded slip of paper. Without a word he gave it to me.

  Opening the paper, I saw the address of the New Mexico clinic, and below it, the name Mark Gottler, accompanied by a phone number and an address for the Fellowship of Eternal Truth.

  Bewildered, I shook my head. “Who is he? What does a church have to do with this?”

  “Gottler is the associate pastor.” Jack lowered to his haunches in front of me, bringing our faces level. “Tara checked into the clinic with one of his credit card numbers.”

  “My God. How did you—” I broke off, passing my palm across the sweaty surface of my forehead. “Wow,” I said unsteadily. “Your investigator really is good. How did he get this information so fast?”

  “I called him yesterday right after I met you.”

  Of course. With the unimaginable resources at his disposal, Jack would have had everything checked out. No doubt he’d had me checked out as well.

  I glanced down at the paper again. “How did my sister get involved with a married church pastor?”

  “Seems the temp agency she works for sends her there from time to time.”

  “To do what?” I asked bitterly. “Pass around the collection plate?”

  “It’s a megachurch. Big business. They hire MBAs, offer investment counseling, run their own restaurant. It looks damn near like Disneyland. Thirty-five thousand members and rising. Gottler’s on TV whenever the main pastor needs a substitute.” He watched as I plaited my fingers together, letting the addresses and phone numbers flutter to the floor. “My company has a couple of maintenance contracts with Eternal Truth. I’ve met Gottler a couple of times.”

  I looked at him sharply. “Really? What is he like?”

  “Smooth. Friendly. Family guy. Doesn’t seem like the kind who’d step out on his wife.”

  “They never do,” I muttered. Before I realized what I was doing, I had formed my hands into the children’s game—here is the church . . . here is the steeple. . . . I pulled my fingers apart and knotted my hands into fists. “Tara wouldn’t admit that he was the father. But why else would he be doing this for her now?”

  “Only one way to know for sure. But I doubt he’d be willing to take a paternity test.”

  “No,” I agreed, trying to absorb it all. “Bastard children aren’t exactly career-boosters for TV preachers.” The air-conditioning seemed to have dropped the room temperature to sub-zero. I was shivering. “I need to meet with him. How would I go about that?”

  “I wouldn’t advise waltzing in there without an appointment. My office is prett
y laid-back about stuff like that. But you’d never get past the front door of Eternal Truth.”

  I decided to be more direct. “Could you help me get a meeting with Gottler?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  That meant no, I thought. My nose and lips were numb. I looked past Jack’s shoulder to the bed, wondering if the baby was cold.

  “He’s okay,” Jack said gently, as if he could read my thoughts. “Everything’s going to be okay, Ella.”

  I jumped a little as I felt his hand close over one of mine. I gave him a round-eyed glance, wondering what he wanted. But there was nothing suggestive in his touch or his gaze.

  His hand was startling in its strength and heat. Something about that vital grip animated me like a drug injected straight into my bloodstream. Such an intimate thing, the clasp of hands. The comfort and pleasure I derived from it were unspeakably disloyal to Dane. But before I could object or even fully absorb the sensation, the warm touch was withdrawn.

  All my life, I’d had to grapple with the needs engendered by the lack of a father. It had left me with a deeply buried attraction to strong men, men with the capacity to dominate, and that terrified me. So I had always gone in the other direction, toward men like Dane who made you kill your own spiders and carry your own suitcase. That was exactly what I wanted. And yet someone like Jack Travis, unimpeachably male, so damned sure of himself, held a secret, nearly fetishistic allure to me.

  I had to lick my dry lips before I could speak. “You didn’t sleep with Tara.”

  Jack shook his head, his gaze locked on mine.

  “I’m sorry,” I said humbly. “I was certain you had.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t know why I was so stubborn about it.”

  “Don’t you?” he murmured.

  I blinked. I could still feel the part of my hand he had gripped. My fingers flexed to retain the sensation. “Well,” I said, oddly out of breath, “you’re free to go now. Cancel the doctor’s visit, you’re off the hook. I promise never to bother you again.”

  I stood, and so did Jack, and his body was so close I could almost feel the solid warmth of him. Too close. I would have stepped back, except the ottoman was right behind me.